Drunken Sorrows
by HR always live on
Summary: Harry and Mark have both lost the love of their life. They meet in a bar in Seattle and the whisky is flowing fast. Set post spooks S10 and Grey's S8. Depressing and not a lot of point to it...


**This is my first crossover fic, spooks (after series 10) and grey's anatomy (after series 8). It was an idea which wouldn't leave me alone, so I had to write it, but I don't think its that good anyway! So thanks for reading!**

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Harry Pearce sat at the bar, nursing his first scotch of the night. He knew damn well it wouldn't be his last, but he was in too much despair to care very much. He had been told to come to America of his own free will to help their enquiries on Jim Coaver's death, otherwise they'd take him there themselves. So he had quite willingly got onto a plane after Ruth's funeral, which he had insisted on staying in the UK for. He felt it would have been incredibly disloyal and nothing near what she deserved, so even though it was pushing his luck, he stayed for that awful day when the love of his life was buried under the cold and unforgiving earth. At the end of the day Erin had confronted him, telling him time was running out, so instead of going through her belongings like he wanted to, he got on a flight to Washington.

It took a few days, but he lost his CIA tails and had been keeping a low profile ever since and had wandered into Seattle a couple of days ago. He was guessing he'd have to stay in the US until the presidential election later in the year. Then he would no longer be a concern on anyone's radar and he could go home. Although Ruth was no longer waiting for him in London. She was his home and she had been taken from him, so he didn't exactly have a lot to go back for. But he knew he would. London was the place they had spent the most time together, it was where memories of her would come most alive, even though it felt like she was haunting him everyday. He longed to see her blue eyes, to hear her quiet and just voice. To see anything that would remind him of her. The scent of her hair, the brief touch of her fingers against his which happened so very rarely. At that thought he swallowed his drink in one.

"I'll have another double scotch," he said to the barman.

"And me," another mans voice said next to Harry, taking his seat at the bar. Harry grumbled to himself. He was depressed and melancholy and he didn't want company, no matter what form it might take. The man next to him took off his jacket and his black tie and Harry realised he was dressed far too smartly just for a visit to a bar. All in black too. He felt his heart sink.

"Been to a funeral?" Harry asked gruffly.

"I'm not talking about it," the stranger said, downing the drink in one as it arrived and quickly ordering another. Harry felt himself warming to this man in spite of himself. Once the stranger had downed another whisky, he seemed much calmer. "You have no idea what its like." Harry wondered for a second whether the man was speaking to him or the room in general. Rather than wallow in his own self pity, he thought he'd bite.

"What do I have no idea about?" Harry asked.

"What its like to bury the love of your life."

Oh good. Someone suffering almost as much as he was. Just what was going to help take his mind off of Ruth. His Ruth. His love who died six months ago. Six months, two weeks and three days to be exact. "What's your name?" Harry asked bluntly and rudely.

"Mark," he replied, taking no offence to the rudeness. "And yours?"

He thought about lying but then decided he didn't have the energy. "Harry."

Mark nodded, as if it was irrelevant, which it really was Harry thought. "She's gone. Never coming back."

"I know the feeling," Harry said with such fervency that even as Mark was slowly slipping into a drunken stupor he couldn't miss it.

Mark stared at this stranger with newfound understanding. "You do don't you?"

"More than you could know," Harry said, downing another whisky.

"Who was she?"

"You first," Harry said, feeling he needed some more alcohol before talking about his beautiful brunette who would own his heart for the rest of his life and probably beyond.

"Lexie," Mark said, putting a lot of emotion into those two syllables. "She was too good, too innocent and too young to die. Oh God, when I think of her dying trapped under a plane…"

"So tragedy's do happen to other people," Harry said. He thought hell had reserved its punishments especially for him.

"Did you lose someone?" Mark asked. He ordered another round for them both. Harry didn't answer until their drinks arrived.

"Yes." Harry said, his mind pausing on her blue eyes that he'd never see again. "Ruth. She…" he still couldn't say the word. "Died. Because someone was trying to kill me. And I just stood there as she got in the way. And she died."

"I'll never find someone like her," Mark said as the whisky kept flowing. "Who'll put up with all my rubbish, my past and love me anyway in spite of it all." Harry felt an uncomfortable throb in his chest at those words. Far too close to how he felt too.

"This rounds on me," Harry said.

Mark looked at the stranger. A random English man in Seattle seemed very odd. Added to that the loss he was clearly feeling and Mark felt an odd kinship with this man. Especially when he was buying the drinks. After Lexie's funeral he had no choice but to get drunk. He knew that would be how the day ended, he just hadn't expected to find someone in a similar position. "Everyday I wake up expecting to see her, and then I remember that she's dead," Mark admitted.

"My… Ruth... has been gone six months. I feel that way every morning," Harry said. "It never gets any easier." Harry took a sip of his drink. "In fact it gets worse, because the longer it goes, the less time you have when you forget she's gone. I wish I'd died instead. She was younger, she had more to live for. It should have been me."

Mark closed his eyes, because it would have been so much easier if he'd died. He'd prefer it if Lexie was alive and it had been him trapped under that stupid aeroplane. "I miss her," Mark said. "I miss her so much. Sometimes I wish I could join her in death. It'd be easier."

"That temptation doesn't go away," Harry replied. "The only reason I haven't done... it is because I know she'd be ashamed of me. She always gave me more credit than I deserved, and she'd be so disappointed in me. But living without her is the worst torture I've ever had to endure. And there's no end to it either. Just goes on and on."

"You're a right ray of sunshine," Mark said sarcastically. "What are you doing in Seattle anyway?"

"Its anonymous and no one knows me so I can drink my sorrows away in peace," Harry replied, semi honestly. "And try not to think of her, which I'm failing at spectacularly." Harry sighed and took another whisky, now feeling his senses dulling because of the alcohol. Because of this, he didn't hear it when someone approached them both. Turning was a man he didn't recognise, but apparently Mark did. He sighed and downed the drink in front of him as Derek approached him.

"Mark, this isn't doing any good."

"I need a drink," Mark said and Harry realised just how much he was slurring his words now.

"You need to go home and sleep it off," Derek said. "Come on. I've got a cab waiting outside."

"I don't want to go home," Mark said. "I want Lexie."

"I know you do," Derek said. "Look, you can't drink your life away, Sophia needs you sober. She needs her father, not an empty whisky bottle as a parent. Come on."

Mark allowed himself to be pulled off of the bar stool unsteadily stumbling as Derek lead him out. Harry watched them go feeling hollow. He had been so caught up in his own emotions that he hadn't even stopped to think about his children. He had been mourning Ruth so completely he hadn't spoken to Catherine for more than eight months. Harry paid his drinks bill, deciding in the morning to find an internet café and email her. A phone call was risky in his current situation. He didn't want anyone undesirable to find him. So he'd email her. It was the right thing to do. He needed to pull himself out of his grief long enough to be a father to his children. Even though they were grown up, he knew he couldn't wallow any longer. So he'd try to make contact with her tomorrow. For now he was going back to his cold and empty flat, with only thoughts of Ruth to warm him.


End file.
